


Between You and the Giant Squid

by annegirlblythe



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (later) - Freeform, Anne is Lily, Avonlea gossip, Burgeoning war, Dreamy children, F/M, Fascination with the wizarding world, Gilbert is James, Hogwarts AU, Muggleborn Politics, Severus Snape Bashing, crossover fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-01-19 00:04:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12398997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annegirlblythe/pseuds/annegirlblythe
Summary: “I shall never be friends with you, Gilbert Blythe; and I don’t want to be!” - Anne Shirley“I wouldn’t go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid!” - Lily EvansAnne Shirley receives a letter from a mysterious school that tells her she’s a witch, attends Hogwarts, meets a messy-haired boy on the train who she decides immediately decides she can’t stand, and wins her teachers over. Some good old-fashioned character swap nonsense.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This is probably super niche and ridiculous, but you know. Sometimes you just have to go all out.  
> Thank you to the works of dirgewithoutmusic for inspiring the style and tone of this piece, and to acme146 (this time her and not her fics, although it’s usually the other way around) for encouraging this ridiculousness.

Anne Shirley was the dreamiest dreamer in her little town, and everyone knew it. She had a strange way about her, a love for the flowers and the trees and the everyday beauty that seemed to radiate from her, even as a child. She spoke strangely, as if she thought she lived in some long-away Tennyson poem, and every so often, strange things seemed to coincide with her presence. 

The flowers would continue to bloom even after she picked them. The children she teased would sometimes mysteriously end up speaking only in rhymes for the rest of the day. When awful, screeching Mrs. Hammond was too sharp or reached out with a wooden spoon to hit Anne with, whatever was on the stove would catch fire. No one seemed to want to point these things out, particularly, but everyone seemed aware of them. Mrs. Hammond called her a freak and a burden, as was to be expected, Anne thought, since she was a hired girl and all. 

Luckily, she had Katie - the bosom-est of window friends. She did know that Katie was only her own reflection (everyone knew that) but she could swear that sometimes when Katie talked to her, it wasn’t just in her own imagination. She could  _ swear,  _ however wicked it might sound. 

\---

 

There were other friends, too. Bosom friends, the kind that would keep vows with you, and understand the deepest of secrets. Severus, the bad apple of the Snape family from around the corner, was fascinated with Anne. 

He watched her, with his strange grey eyes that seemed too old for someone just nine like Anne, collecting berries in her apron. “You’re that Anne Shirley, aren’t you?” he called from the edge of the orchard. 

“I don’t talk to strange boys who pop out of the bushes without any manners at all,” she replied, not even looking up from the prickles. She was imagining that she was a valiant knight, working through a tangle of brush to get to the princess inside before it was too late, and she did not have time for Severus Snape. 

“You might not have time for boys,” he replied thoughtfully. “But I’m not a normal boy. I’m a wizard.” 

This caught Anne’s attention at last. “A wizard? Like Merlin and Vivien?” 

“I don’t know who they are,” Severus said, “But I know that I’m a wizard. And you’re a witch.” 

It does not even occur to Anne to disbelieve him. The plain statement seems to fit in quite well with what she knows and imagines about herself. They spend an enjoyable afternoon wandering the little forest, and for the first time, she wanders with someone who can spin stories as wild and beautiful and imaginative as her own. The best part is that Severus doesn’t even have to imagine them. 

 

\---

 

He is a strange boy, but she fancies herself something of a strange girl. Their friendship is based on stories, woven together in stolen moments. Anne comes up with them while doing her chores for Mrs. Hammond, then recounts them to Severus by the banks of the Lake of Shining Waters (otherwise known as Snape Pond), or underneath the glittering fairy arches of Lover’s Lane. She comes up with the plots - the princesses stolen away, the beggars selling their hair, the dragons and the griffins, and the castle towers - and he supplies the details from his mother, a witch if there ever was one, about the world she could not wait to enter. 

She talks as if she belongs somewhere far away, and now that she knows that she does, she borrows less from Shelley and Shakespeare, and more from Bathilda Bagshot and    
Phyllida Spore to support her ever growing vocabulary. She is less a child and more a slave, but with a school on the horizon to teach her how to control the phenomena in her fingertips, she finds the cross so much easier to bear. 

 

\---

When her letter arrives - on a dramatic looking scroll and signed by a name that strikes joy into her heart, how romantic is  _ Minerva McGonagall? - _ Anne sobs over it in absolute delight. She loves the world of fairies and mermaids and the joy when she finds that she's part of that world - for real and true - is nearly too much for her sad little heart. 

She immediately launches into a speech about how she always knew there was something different about her, and how the daffodils between the lake and the pasture always seemed to be her friends and maybe  _ they  _ knew she was a witch. 

Mrs. Hammond gives her an odd look - a mixture of fear, disgust, and maybe some sort of  _ sense  _ being clicked into place about her little ward. She sends the girl down to the cellar for preserves for her babies, although something in her thinks that maybe she shouldn’t let that devil child - that  _ witch  _ \- alone with them. 

 

\---

Odd, owlish, Professor Trelawney is sent to explain the Wizarding World to Anne. Anne  _ immediately  _ takes to her odd flowery-tea smell, her unfocused eyes, and the voice that trails off sentences when she isn’t being listened to properly. 

“You, Miss, er, Shirley, are a witch. A Muggleborn, no less, rarer than witches born from wizarding families. What do you know about yourself, child?” 

“My parents were Walter and Bertha Shirley. I 'm so glad my parents had nice names. It would be a real disgrace to have a father named--well, say Jedediah, wouldn't it?” Anne said eagerly, trying to make her mark upon this woman she wants so desperately as a kindred spirit.   
“Quite. Names have power,” answered Professor Trelawney sagely. 

Anne gasped. “I’ve always  _ known  _ that,” she says excitedly. “I read in a book once that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but I've never been able to believe it. I don't believe a rose  _ would _ be as nice if it was called a thistle or a skunk cabbage.” 

“You will learn, Miss Shirley, in time, that bad things await us when we do not undertake names as serious as they are.” The Professor seems light and airy, even when she makes this proclamation. The fact that she seems too thin to be probable also gives Anne a bit of hope - she’s always been too skinny, but maybe that’s an attractive quality in this new world she’s about to step through the looking glass and into. “You, in particular, have many, many lessons to learn.” 

“I’m sure I do,” Anne answers modestly, although she’s bursting at the seams with excitement. “And I’m sure I can bear them with the utmost inner gorm and gumption, if only I get to do it at  _ Hogwarts.  _ The name just gives me a thrill. Doesn’t it you, Professor? Is that the right thing? Only I could call you ma’am but that doesn’t seem right somehow.” 

“Professor will suit fine. Shall we delve into the world of your studies? There are many things you must know before you begin your journey at Hogwarts, you know.” 

 

\---

 

Diagon Alley nearly knocks Anne down with the force of its loveliness and bustle. She has no money for robes and a wand and such, but there is a fund for students who need it, and she’s just fine arm-in-arm with Severus, with each of their little bags of gold (real gold, like kings and knights and royal ladies trade) retrieved a bank with  _ real goblins.  _

She falls in love with the feeling of camaraderie and the liveliness of the town, wishing she had about eight more eyes. She turns her head in every direction as they walk up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping. 

A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad...." A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying _ Eeylops Owl Emporium -- Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy _ . 

Several kids of about Anne’s age have their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," Anne hears one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand -- fastest ever --" There are shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments Anne has never seen before - never even thought to imagine - windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon...

Everything is expensive, and would cost more than she has in her little black bag, but by charming the storekeepers with her awe, wonder, and vocabulary, she walks away with plain versions of everything on the list. They are not beautiful, and most of them are not new, but they are interesting enough to make up for it. 

“Well, how do you like your new robes, Anne?” Severus asks, the closest to cheerful she’s ever seen him. “Bit of a change from gingham, hmm?” 

“I can imagine I like them,” she says with a hint of irony. “Luckily, I’m a witch.”

Her pointed witch hat is too plain and severe, so she asks Severus’s mum to put a spell on it to keep the wildflowers she weaves through it fresh and live and whole. She’s quite severely scolded for this, and told on no uncertain terms what she’ll be wearing when she gets to Hogwarts.

She doesn’t care. She’s leaving the Hammonds for somewhere that will feel like home - somewhere that might actually be a home. Somewhere she’ll learn how to adorn herself to own specifications. Her wand - ten and a quarter inches, willow, nearly as swishy as she is - sits warmly at the top of her carpet bag, a reminder of the terribly romantic venture awaiting her on September first at eleven o’clock. 

\---

 

Getting on the train is a trial (by fire, Anne’s mind supplies), but she’s glad that she’s with Severus. He seems to know everything about this little world already, and she wonders when their roles got reversed. She used to be his conduit, walking first, taking the hand of her bosom friend behind her and showing him the world. It’s not an unwelcome change, but it does make her question the unwavering certainty she’s always had in their friendship. 

She crosses onto the platform carrying her little carpet bag with the broken clasp that you’ve got to hold just right, the one that wouldn’t sell from the little shop down the street from Madame Malkins - where the prettiest robes were. The bag emits a dreadful scream when Anne puts it down, or lets someone else handle it, so she holds on tight. She wants to draw eyes, but not for her bag. 

Anne and Severus find a compartment with a few other first years, who mostly talk amongst themselves. She fidgets with her bag and tries not to talk Severus’s ear off - though she’s  _ bursting  _ with commentary about their peers - in the presence of others. He’s looking at her, though, like he hopes she’ll say something. 

“Shall we go see the rest of the train?” she finally asks, thinking that a walk might stay her nervous energy. She’d been so  _ sure  _ she wanted this, so  _ sure  _ she could walk with her head held high through the crowds of witches and wizards who had known their whole lives what she only beginning to pick up now. 

“I can tell you what I know about the others, if you like,” Severus says, and Anne is again grateful, if a little disoriented by the change in their rhythm. 

“That sounds lovely,” she says, swallowing it. 

It’s in this little lesson that she learns about the Pye family (all stuck up snobs, the youngest of whom is in their lot to be Sorted), the Sloanes (inexcusably Sloane-ish in their interactions, but rather smart on their own) and the Pringles (who never had any good sense, anyway.) Anne rather thinks that she’d like to make up her own mind (“why, Severus Snape, I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thank you very much!”) but the direction, especially about that youngest Pye girl, with the pink ribbon on her plain black hat, is appreciated. 

The continue to walk, and Anne is sure that she’s having the time of her life.  _ Real  _ witches and wizards - ones that are soon to be her friends! One compartment door they peep in holds an interesting story. 

“That’s Gilbert Blythe,” Severus whispers, “He’s something of a legend around Hogwarts. He had to start late because his father was ill, but he’s back this year and he'll get Sorted with us. Looks like he’s sitting with the Ravenclaws.” 

Just as Anne is about to answer, the compartment door opens, and she’s suddenly face to face with the smiliest, freckliest face she’s ever seen underneath a mop of hair so curly it makes her think of lilacs. “Heard you talkin’ at the door. Wanted to make sure it was all good things.” 

With an indignant huff, Anne looks sharply over at Severus. “Do you remember my rule about  _ spies,  _ Sev?” 

“Spies? You were the ones at  _ our  _ compartment door,” Gilbert says in return, his accent so endearing it makes Anne’s heart hurt. All the same, she is nothing if not principled, so she takes Severus’ arm, and turns to leave the door of the compartment. 

Gilbert calls after her. “Wait! Hey, Carrots, wait!” 

_ Carrots!? Carrots???? Did he just call HER  _ Carrots? Her red hair is her one lifelong sorrow that could not be eased by any loveliness presented to her, and  _ Gilbert Blythe _ had spoilt any dream she might have had that it would go unnoticed here. In a fit of rage, she rifles through her screaming bag, and comes up with a fistful of the first thing she could grab - a brand new roll of parchment. 

With strength earned from years of physical labor as a hired girl, she raises the parchment above her head and brings it down with a  _ crack  _ on the head of her newest tormentor - her new….archenemy, yes, that has a nice ring to it! He deserves it for the humiliation he’s brought her, and the reminder of the fact that witch or not - she will forever be mundane and redheaded.

A loud “oooh” from the rest of the boys sounds up, and Gilbert’s face shows a cocktail of emotion Anne can’t quite read. 

 

\---

 

Facing away from each other in their compartment, Anne and Severus dress in their new black robes, Anne loving the romance of the way the fabric tumbles off her forearms in long sweeps. She turns to Severus to exclaim over it, but catches the eye of the girl sitting across from her, wide-eyed. “Did you really hit a second year with a roll of parchment?” she asks in wonder. 

The question feels like something of a trap to bullied Anne, and she looks uncertainly at Severus, who draws up, as if enjoying the power Anne’s brashness had given them both. “Yes. She did.” 

She regrets letting him answer for her, but stands firm, letting the tone of her actions set her relationship with the girl in front of her. 

“Why?” she asks, simply. “I’m Marlene McKinnon, by the way. Someone said your name was Anne?” 

“Because he insulted me, Marlene, and I don’t believe a boy ought to be able to talk to strange girls that way. I shall never forgive him as long as I live - it’s a solemn vow.”  

The girl - Marlene - smiles nervously. “Alright, then. What House do you think you’ll be in?” 

With that, Anne is off again, dreaming aloud her fantasies before the actual Sorting is to begin. She and Severus exit the train with Marlene, Anne carefully avoiding the gaze of Gilbert Blythe. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravenclaw House is about to gain a truly exceptional student.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay okay okay, I know I said earlier that Gilbert was going in as a second year, but I lied. He's going in as a first year, he's just two years older. Sorry about that!

As the three first years stepped out onto the platform, the whole student body pushing their way out of the train and past, Anne made sure not to lose sight of her friends. It makes her smile to think of Marlene as her friend, even though they’d only known each other for a few minutes. Sometimes, with a kindred spirit, you just _knew._

 The lake - possibly the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen in her life, all lit up and shining against the dark of the night - seems to Anne to be covered over with hundreds of small boats, lit up each of them with a lantern. Before she could comment on the sight, though, Anne’s attention was caught by a gruff voice, calling out, “Firs’ years follow, firs’ years, this way!”

 “I suppose that’s us,” Anne says excitedly, clutching at Severus’s through his robe, before the solemnity of their situation occurs to her, and she drops her voice. “This moment. This is the first day of the rest of our lives. Severus, once we get on those boats, we become _Hogwarts students._ We become witches and wizards. Are we ready for such a moment?”

“Come on, Anne!” Marlene says with a tug on Anne’s sleeve. “Let’s make sure to get seats together!”

 Overcome, Anne nods, and they make their way down the platform and to the side of the lake. “Look,” she says excitedly, pointing to where the rest of the black-garbed and excitedly chatting students seemed to be gathering. “What are those, Sev?”

“What, the horseless carriages?” he says, looking as if he’d rather focus his attention on the boats they’re about to board.

 “They’re not horseless,” Anne says, “Look at the creatures harnessed there. They look like death itself.” The carriages - all grander than Anne has ever seen - seem like they’re going to pulled by the creatures, who look peaceful enough for all their winged skeletal pallor. She finds that she wants to touch them, wants to name them. Her first magical creatures!

 “Yes, they are, Anne. Stop imagining things, and get in the boat,” Severus snaps with uncharacteristic bite.

 He’s starting to sound like all the people back in their village, “But I’m not -”

 “They’re called threshals,” a voice from behind them all says importantly. “They pull the carriages.”

 A sick feeling of dread seeps into Anne’s stomach. She recognizes that voice, and she is _not_ ready to speak to Gilbert Blythe again, not at such a momentous passing! Even if he knows about things like threshals, she _has_ her dignity, thank you very much, and she cannot speak to a boy who has made fun of her in such a devastating way.

 He isn’t moving, though, and she knows she’ll have to say _something_ . “Thank you, Mr. Blythe, for your explanation. I will do my research into these _threshals,_ and in the meantime, I’d appreciate you leaving me and my friends alone!”

 “Aw, Anne, I’m sorry,” he says earnestly, his hateful face breaking into the most genuine expression she’d ever seen on anyone. “I didn’t mean to make fun of your hair, honest. I only wanted to -”

 “It doesn’t matter what you wanted to do because you’ve hurt my feelings terribly, and if you wouldn’t mind, I have to prepare myself for the Sorting Ceremony! Come on, Severus, let’s make sure to get the best seats.”

 Now it’s Anne doing the dragging, although Severus and Marlene are quite willing to let themselves be pulled to the edge of the dock, looking out at the shining water. The lights from the boats make patterns on its dark surface, and it nearly takes her breath away with the force of its loveliness.  
  
Marlene is the first to set a foot in the boat, laughing as she does. “Come on, you two! It’s not even wobbling.”

 Anne beams with everything that’s happening, and climbs into one of the small boats beside Marlene, letting her hand drag in the cool water. “Severus,” she says, looking up at him. “I just want you to know that I’m never going to be happier than I am right now. I’ve reached the peak of loveliness. I almost don’t want to go inside for fear it will dissipate.”

 It does not dissipate. The smooth boat ride to the castle, narrated by their delightful tour guide who had introduced himself as Hagrid (“he’s a kindred spirit, I can _feel_ it!”) is absolutely lovely. Students around her seem to be sizing each other up, wondering who they might fall into friendships with, but Anne can’t be bothered with any of that now. Not on this day - September _first,_ her first September first - and with this excitement coursing through her.

 The Great Hall is as magnificent as any atrium could be, and Anne has to force herself to listen to the imposing-looking witch at the top of the stairs. She doesn’t look as much like a witch from Macbeth as Professor Trelawney, but there is something innately magical about her that makes Anne like her immediately. She introduces herself as Professor McGonagall.

 "Welcome to Hogwarts," says Professor McGonagall stiffly. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.”

 The word _family_ hits Anne’s brain and stomach and heart like a shot of warm brandy, and she squeezes Marlene’s hand. “ _Listen,”_ Marlene hisses back at her, and Anne does.

 "The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.”

 “Professor!” Anne hears herself saying, too quickly to stop it from happening.

 The beautiful Professor McGonagall looks surprised, but turns to face Anne, looking less stern than Anne thinks she might want to. “Yes? And your name, please?”

 “Anne Shirley, ma’am, Anne with an E. It looks so much more magical that way!”

 The witch’s mouth hardens into a line. “Yes, Anne with an E, what did you need to interrupt to say?”

 “I just wanted to know, Professor, which house _you’re_ in,” Anne finishes shyly. She knows she sounds childish, but she wants to know. She wants to know everything.

 “I’m the Head of Gryffindor, Miss Shirley,” Professor McGonagall answers, then refocuses and addresses the whole group of first years. "The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

 Her eyes lingered for a moment on cloak of the boy in front of Anne, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Gilbert's smudged nose. Anne nervously tried to straighten her hat.

 "I shall return when we are ready for you," says Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

 Anne watches with rapt attention as the first three or four first years are sorted, but her mind quickly wanders as she stands in line. By the time Professor McGonagall has called, _Shirley, Anne_ to the stage, Anne already has a Gryffindor life laid out ahead of herself. Bravery and chivalry and looking just exactly like Professor McGonagall when she stands atop a flight of stairs and looks down through her lace trimmed robes….

 “Anne!” Severus hisses, with an elbow to her ribs. “Go! It’s your turn!”

 Nearly shaking, and trying not to stop to take in all the beauty in the Great Hall between the line of first years and the middle of the stage, Anne makes her way to the tiny stool. Professor McGonagall smiles - and Anne thinks she detects just a little bit of pity in that smile - and then the hat is on her head. Anne wonders if “Gryffindor” will be shouted immediately, or if it will take a while. She jumps a little when she hears a voice say, “Anne Shirley...hmm…” It only takes her a moment to adjust to the fact that the hat is speaking to her, and she immediately thinks back at it, “hello!”

 The dry little voice in her ear says, “I see a thirst for the world around you, Anne. You want to understand everything, yes? Be a part of it with your knowledge and spirit?”

 “More than anything,” Anne replies, not aloud.

 “Well, I had better make you a _RAVENCLAW!”_

 A sting of disappointment hits Anne, but the cheers from the blue table in the middle quickly mollify her. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Ravenclaw will be... well, she doesn’t know yet, but it’s at _Hogwarts._ How could it be anything but wonderful?

 She takes a seat between Marlene and a blonde third year who introduces herself as Alice. “So!” Alice says with a grin. “Excited to be an eagle?”

 Anne sighs, and sets her shoulders. “It's been my experience that you can nearly always enjoy things if you make up your mind firmly that you will.”

 She’s so busy trying to figure out why Alice is laughing at her that she barely notices when _“Snape, Severus”_ gets Sorted into Slytherin, and takes a seat at the green table behind her.

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed pretty heavily from both the Anne series (most of her dialogue is canon), and took the scene in Diagon Alley straight out of the Sorcerer’s Stone. I never said I was creative. Credit to two of my favorite ladies - LM Montgomery the beautiful, and JK Rowling the wise.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at harryjameseadcanons!


End file.
